“Oh, okay,” is all I manage to say, surprised at his logical response. “Yes, I could have a bite,” I say, answering his earlier question, my fingers playing with the strap of my tote bag in my lap.
With a nod, he swerves the car and pulls up in front of a McDonald’s outlet. Feeding me and helping me distract my mind without me having to ask.
I didn’t realize I could feel this safe around the broody goalie.
Seven
Andie
Present
“Ms. Moore! Me, Ms. Moore! Let me, please!” All of my students shout in unison, getting excited about knowing the answer to a math problem as they practically leap out of their seats to make me notice their raised hands.
I chuckle at their enthusiasm, catching every smiling face in this colorful classroom. I made it a point from day one to display all of their creativity in the class. “Settle down, settle down. Everyone will get a chance.”
Teaching a bunch of second graders is not an easy feat, but it brings me immense joy to makethese kids feel like there’s nothing in the world they can’t do.
I know how much it discourages you when others have the audacity to tell you what you can and can’t do. So, I make it a point to teach my kids that no dream is too big.
“Okay, Tabi, what do you think is the answer?” I tip my chin towards her, her pigtails swinging forward as she stands.
“Ms. Moore, I got an 8,” she says, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
Before I can correct her, Tucker and his friends start mocking her. “BOOOO!” Tabi loses her confidence, her shoulders bunching almost to her ears.
“Stop that, you guys.” My voice is stern. “Did we not talk about kindness and compassion?”
When the kids continue to laugh, I shake my head at them. “Tabi, it’s okay. We’ll do it again and help you figure out the right answer. Okay?” I console her with a soft smile. She nods and takes a seat.
“My mom says that things like kindness and compassion are for weak people,” Tucker believes that it’s a lesson he should be sharing with the class.
Honestly, I don’t blame him. Parents are almost always responsible for their child’s behavior. And in Tucker’s case, it’s one hundred percent true.
Instead of scolding him for interrupting the class, I try to make him understand that it takes strength to be a kind person. “Well, Tucker, but wouldn’t you say that helping someone or being polite to them might make you feel better?”
He seems to mull over it while I move in front of the class and lean against my table, arms crossed at my chest, a smile permanently etched on my face. I believe that people around can sense vibes, especially children. So, I always strive to be upbeat and confident, even when the situation or my thoughts might not warrant it.
Though the thoughts in my head aren’t particularly PG this morning. They haven’t been since last weekend. Noah and I came to an agreement of sorts, but we haven’t really followed through with it.
Not yet, anyway.
I know I was the one who bared herself to him a few days ago and asked him to help me explore my sexuality. He was reluctant for a lot of reasons, ranging from our age gap toour starkly different experience levels. It was mainly because of his relation to Ezra.
So, I wonder how long it would take him to reach out to me. I don’t doubt that he has an array of women at his beck and call. And that’s exactly why I need him to come to me first.
I need to know that I’m not forcing him into doing anything he doesn’t consent to.
Tucker’s loud opinion pulls me out of my meandering thoughts. “No, Ms. Moore, my mom says you’re wrong. I remember telling her that before, and she said that you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he scoffs, slumping back in his seat, acting far older than his age, but also not.
Mention of his mom’s name brings a sour taste to my tongue. She’s one of those parents who believe that just because they pay for their child’s education, they have the right to treat the teacher however they want.
The class starts murmuring among themselves, finding yet another topic to gossip about. I stand straight and clap my hands a couple of times to grab their attention, but they fall on deaf ears. Just as I’m about to speak, I’m interrupted by the Vice Principal knocking on the classroom door.
A hush falls over the class, and I shake my headat the children—my cute little scared cats.
“Come on, kids. Solve the next question in your notebooks. I’ll come check in a minute,” I say, pointing to the board. After giving them something to do, I smooth a hand down my dress and head towards Mrs. Deena, who is incessantly tapping her foot on the floor like she has been waiting for centuries.
I wish I could roll my eyes at her, but I hide it with a faux smile. “Good morning, ma’am,” I greet her.